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On bards, the breaking day.
by Jason MoskalykOh, by all means; Sing on the storm's tip!
It's mottled red scar will trouble you not,
Raw lullabies, such as it's glare provides,
crests to glassy breaks of argent thought!
I awoke in standing focus,
Consummate acoustic locus,
Standing on the cleft of interval,
It's ending written open.
On the edge, tiptoes touching declivity,
He did stand; his back so sharp to me!
A bold one indeed! to pose as if
He somehow owned all of what could be see.
So seemingly massive was his smirk ergo,
I at first - quite truly- did frown,
But in the one seethingly eternal second,
He glanced; his eyes held eternal renown.
"You possess but a single frame of time, bard.
One universal strand of hope!
Your thought transfigured all uncreation;
It wove continuity from itself as rope."
Did you ride out this blackness
To watch your pawns slacken and widen?
You say : They're not attacking, they're confiding.
I see: so you're glad you moved them there?
You've heard the enuniciation of truth,
Doddering, rattling, pulling cleverly loose,
It's that lurid grin... brimming from within,
For it will bar none who choose to sing too.
Guns, truncheons and blades may move me,
Moreso, they'll most certainly reduce me!
But before long, they'll simply just tumble right through me
As your velvet lips give sight to the blind.
06/13/2010 Posted on 06/13/2010
Copyright © 2024 Jason Moskalyk
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 06/14/10 at 05:18 PM Such a unique voice. Loved Stanza 2. The use of tiptoes is so visual, the smirk so massive; enjoyed how you played with the pawns, the "single frame of time", that last stanza transcending. Thank you. |
| Posted by Jo Halliday on 06/16/10 at 04:18 PM An extraordinary and a beautiful poem, deftly built and with brilliantly chosen vocabulary. Thanks a lot for this. |
| Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 06/18/10 at 02:42 PM Nice tight form, lively thought provoking message. Thanks for sharing this! |
| Posted by Therese Elaine on 06/22/10 at 02:49 PM This poem is rather like the Sea Hawk of poems -with the dash and adventure of an Errol Flynn epic, a swashbuckling tone and temperament, a bit of heaving cleavage, romantic promises and corset-swoons...in short...it gives me that wickedly illicit feeling. |
| Posted by Charlie Morgan on 06/24/10 at 12:00 AM ...jason, a sprinkle here, a tad there, and stir, slowly then rapidly, then let it settle, after all...'the ending is written open.' man, this is a tall write, like therese said, swashbucklin' errol-ish...a great mover and the rhyme is to top it off. |
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